


cosmic love

by theghostofriverphoenix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: :|, Angst, Episode AU: s05e22 Swan Song, Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, F/M, Floof, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Other, Post-Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, Smut, Suicide, also there are songs, devil emoji, hellatus got me like, lol, well some smut, yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7823539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theghostofriverphoenix/pseuds/theghostofriverphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“what happened back there? what did those other angels do to you?” dean asks cas once they’re on the highway.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“they took my grace,” cas says simply. “i fell.” he stares out through the windshield. dean waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“so… what does that mean?” dean asks. “are you… a human now, or what?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“‘or what’ makes more sense. i’ll never be fully human, but i won’t be an angel, either. i don’t know what i am now, to be truthful..."</i>
  <br/>
</p><p>

"the many-worlds interpretation is an interpretation of quantum mechanics that asserts the objective reality of the universal wavefunction and denies the actuality of wavefunction collapse. many-worlds implies that all possible alternate histories and futures are real, each representing an actual "world" (or "universe"). in layman's terms, the hypothesis states there is a very large—perhaps infinite—number of universes, and everything that could possibly have happened in our past, but did not, has occurred in the past of some other universe or universes."

—from wikipedia, the free encyclopedia ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. what the water gave me

**Author's Note:**

> what’s going on here is i have [coconuts](https://youtu.be/a3MzdAVL46E) with how “swan song” ends & then how the entire series goes after that point. hellatus is getting to that weird point that it always gets to in the summer, so for my own purposes i will rewrite the ending of season five. it will be completely self-indulgent. i don’t care. there’s angst, floof, and handy-j’s. what more could you want, really? but it gets better: this story has a soundtrack. each section is accompanied by a florence + the machine song, and the titles are stolen from said songs. links will be provided, and i highly recommend you listen. any feedback y’all can give me is welcome. thanks for being cool, fam. xoxoxo
> 
>  
> 
> “were you hoping for more fireworks today? fair enough, let me conclude with the bravura piece. i hope some of you recall my comments about tulpas. i told you these were considered in tibet to be fictitious beings created by concentration until they materialize, so to speak, on this plane of existence. since we have just finished talking about writers and so forth, i began thinking about tulpas again. two of you gentleman are precisely that, tulpas. you exist, but not in the ordinary sense we take for granted. both of you are characters of fiction drawn by a great artist and believed by a public that loves myth. who am i to say that you do not exist?”
> 
> —richard wincor, _sherlock holmes in tibet_
> 
>  
> 
> _“i took the stars from my eyes and then i made a map:_   
>  _i knew that somehow, i could find my way back._   
>  _then i heard your heart beating— you were in the darkness, too_   
>  _so i stayed in the darkness with you…”_
> 
> —florence + the machine, “cosmic love” ([x](https://youtu.be/2EIeUlvHAiM))

[x](https://youtu.be/am6rArVPip8)

  


 

at the cemetery everything’s the same, except cas shows up alone (sans bobby because why does bobby have to fucking die jesus give him a break) and instead of blowing him up, the devil is like “fuck outta here, bro. i’ll deal with you later” and merely chucks cas with supernatural™ force into a tree and knocks him the fuck out. then cue the punching in the face and the jumping in the hole. the ground seals up. it’s done. they won. sammy’s gone, though, so dean doesn’t exactly consider that a win.

he stares at the space where the entrance to the pit had been— just an empty field of dead-looking grass, now. there’s a pounding sound in his ears and his vision’s blurred, from the blood in his eyes and from being punched too many times. his head feels heavy. he can’t process what’s happening. his first coherent thought is, _“sammy is dead.”_ his second thought is, _“where’s cas?”_ turning his head and trying to focus his vision makes him feel sick, but he manages to locate cas, still knocked out, slumped against the tree, his face in the dirt. dean attempts to stand and move toward his friend, then immediately feels himself blacking out, so he sits back down and tries to make sense out of what is happening. he thinks, _sammy will know what to do ___. and then he remembers that sam is dead.

he’ll deal with that later. right now, cas needs his help. he has enough time to think this before a shrill roar, an intense wind, and blinding light overcome him: angels, four or five of them, have appeared around cas when dean looks up from shielding his eyes from their light. he calls to them: _”hey!”_

they ignore him. cas remains motionless. one of the female angels grabs him roughly by the throat and yanks him into a sitting position against the tree. dean protests again, and this time another angel turns and, with a glance, forces dean— who was already advancing to attack— back out of reach, helpless. the angel holding cas smacks him hard across the face with the back of her hand. cas comes to, and seems to realize the danger dean had suspected he is currently in. these angels are not here to congratulate him: they’re here to hurt him. dean tries to call out to cas, but the angels have silenced him.

“you’ve betrayed us, castiel,” says the leader, the one who is kneeling before cas, the one who hit him. dean grinds his teeth, enraged about being unable to intervene. cas is helpless against them after the blow he’s just been dealt by lucifer— dean’s sure of it. cas stares his captor in the eyes, his jaw set in defiance.

“you chose a human over your own kind,” says another angel who has been silent until now. he sounds bitter, in dean’s opinion.

 _“again,”_ interrupts another male angel.

“you’ve been warned, castiel,” finishes the leader. “fall in line, or pay the price. you knew what was at stake.”

she reaches toward cas, who although appearing sluggish until now nimbly dodges out of her grasp, seizes her blade, and has it held pointed to her throat in what seems to dean like the blink of an eye. dean’s impressed. “and what if i try to stop you?” cas growls threateningly at her, his voice even lower than usual. too late, he sees his mistake: he’d reacted too quickly, like a trapped animal, like a human, because one of the angels has dean now, and is pressing the tip of cas’s own blade at dean’s pulse point.

“then your pet human dies, just like the other one,” the lead angel says, without emotion. “enough is enough, castiel. it’s over.”

cas hesitates. “he goes free. you leave him in peace, forever,” he negotiates. he’s staring right at dean when he says this. dean’s swooning from his head injuries, but he manages to maintain eye contact with cas. the angels won’t let him speak, so he tries to convey a message with his eyes: _don’t do this, whatever it is you’re about to do. i’m not worth it._

“you’re hardly in a position to be demanding things,” the angel holding dean says, pressing the blade harder intto dean’s neck, drawing blood. dean’s already in so much pain he doesn’t react, but the effect works on cas.

“do it,” he tells the leader, dropping her blade on the ground. she immediately presses her hand to his forehead and to dean it feels like everything explodes around them— he can’t understand what he is seeing. blinding, angelic light pours from cas toward her, into her, and into the other angels, but also into the ground and the trees surrounding them— and through and into dean himself. he feels a force flow over him, a great energy, a warmth that soothes and heals all of the wounds sammy had dealt him at once. the brilliant light blinds him, and he’s forced to shield his eyes behind his arm. 

when he opens his eyes again, his vision isn’t blurred anymore. the angels surrounding cas, who is unconscious again, come into perfect focus before disappearing, leaving cas and him alone in the field— which has suddenly burst into bloom with wildflowers. dean rushes to cas. there’s blood running steadily from his nose and ears. he shakes him, but cas doesn’t respond. dean checks for a pulse. there isn’t one, but he’s not even sure angels are supposed to have a heartbeat. all he is sure of is, his brother is dead and his best friend is probably dead and he kind of wishes he were dead, too. he’s tired of watching everyone he loves die.

he walks to the tree line and starts punching the first tree he finds as hard as he can. the skin on his knuckles rips open on impact with the rough bark. he doesn’t care. he’s crying, but he doesn’t care. _nothing matters anymore,_ he thinks, and drops to his knees on the forest floor, gasping for air.

he feels a hand on his shoulder and turns to find cas, deep blue eyes full of sorrow. “i’m sorry, dean,” he murmurs.

dean sniffs, rubs his nose on the back of his arm. “yeah.” he changes the subject away from himself immediately. “you all right?”

“no,” cas answers softly. “are you?”

“no,” dean echoes. he looks at his bloody hands, then shakes his head. “come on. let’s get the fuck out of here.” cas helps him up, and they climb into the impala. dean can’t wait to get away from the cemetery. he can’t wait to get away from the memory of this entire day.

“what the fuck happened back there? what did those other angels do to you?” he asks cas once they’re on the highway.

“they took my grace,” cas says simply. “i fell.” he stares out through the windshield. dean waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.

“so… what does that mean?” dean asks. “are you… a human now, or what?”

“‘or what’ makes more sense. i’ll never be fully human, but i won’t be an angel, either. i don’t know what i am now, to be truthful.”

dean’s shocked. he understands the gravity of what cas has done for him, but can’t find the words to express himself. he remains silent for too long, and so it comes out sounding less sure than he means it to when he tells cas that everything will be fine.

he checks himself and cas into the nearest cheap motel he can find. “shower’s yours first,” he says distractedly, tossing his duffel bag on one of the beds. “take whatever clothes you want out of there. they should fit you well enough. i’m gonna get us some supplies.”

cas tilts his head, squints at him. even semi-human, dean thinks, cas has definitely retained his quirkiness. “supplies?” cas repeats.

“booze. food. what do you like?” dean’s sorting through the cash in his wallet.

“i don’t know.”

dean looks up at him. “right. i’ll get a variety, then. be right back.” he heads out the door. he needs to be alone with his thoughts for a bit.

he walks a while to a small cluster of businesses: a dunkin donuts, a dollar general, a deli, a little pub with music coming from inside, and a liquor store. he grabs them a few subs— turkey and ham and tunafish— and a bottle of jack daniel’s from the liquor store.

as he walks, he tries to process what’s happened. it seems more real now: sammy is gone. he won’t be waiting at the motel when he gets back there. he won’t be present to drink this bottle of whiskey with him to celebrate their victory. he slows his pace, trying to suppress the urge to scream, or cry, or shoot himself, or maybe all three. then he remembers that cas is back at the motel, human and basically helpless without him. he owes cas a debt, so he decides not to blow his brains out for now and quickens his pace back to his friend.


	2. which witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _cas’s hair is wet. it cascades over his forehead sloppily, jagged ends pointing in every direction. dean’s fascinated. he’s never seen was this way before— he’s used to the trench coat and the tie, always. his eyes follow the drops of water that gravity pulls from cas’s hair to drop onto his strong shoulders, then roll down his bare chest, then downward further over the muscles of his stomach toward the towel cas is holding around his waist. dean doesn’t dare trace their path any further..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "along the open road on winter nights, homeless, cold, and hungry, one voice gripped my frozen heart: 'weakness or strength: you exist, that is strength. you don't know where you are going or why you are going, go in everywhere, answer everyone. no one will kill you, any more than if you were a corpse.' in the morning my eyes were so vacant and my face so dead, that the people i met may not even have seen me..."
> 
> —arthur rimbaud, _a season in hell_

[x](https://youtu.be/yTLzqke528Y)

 

the motel door clicks shut behind dean. cas surveys the room around him through newly-human eyes. his vision is limited: things he used to be able to see are invisible to him now. he feels half-blind. he used to see in multiple dimensions, he used to be able to watch atoms colliding, and now he has to literally, physically turn his head if he wants to see what is behind him. he feels, for the first time, the instinctive fear that he’s witnessed in most humans, and now he recognizes the reason for it: he is so, so vulnerable. he wishes dean hadn’t left.

dean suggested he take a shower. he knows this is a thing that humans do regularly. he has seen dean do it many times— not that he’d been spying on him. he simply watched over dean, sometimes, if he had nothing else to do, to make sure he was all right. he knew that this would feel invasive to dean, however, so he never spoke about it to him. humans, cas has learned, have strict rules about what dean refers to as “privacy” and “personal space.” cas seems to accidentally break these rules on a daily basis, but he is trying his best. he’s learning.

he knows that taking a shower involves taking off one’s clothes and standing under a stream of water for some length of time. he twists the knobs at random until he figures out how to make the water cool enough not to burn— the sensation of the hot water on his skin before he realizes how to turn it down shocks him. his human body is so fragile that even a sudden change in temperature— a simple exchange of energy— can hurt it! he wonders how humans do this, or _anything,_ at that, seemingly without fear. an animalistic anxiety overtakes him, makes his skin crawl. he gets shampoo in his eyes. this also hurts. humans can be hurt by bubbly liquid that they willingly run onto their bodies. a crippling fear overtakes him— he’s not used to the power of human emotions, either. he sways under the water, presses a hand against the cold tiles on the wall to steady himself. he worries that he may have made a terrible mistake.

his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of dean returning. only then does he realize that he was supposed to bring clean clothes from dean’s bag into the bathroom with him. cas has gathered that humans are uncomfortable with nudity, so he tries to wrap one of the hotel’s too-small, crinkly white towels around his waist, as he’s often seen dean do, but he can’t work out how to do it. he gives up after a few attempts and simply holds the towel closed with his free hand.

dean’s setting two tumblers he retrieved from the trunk of the car on the nightstand: one for him, and sammy’s glass for cas. he pours himself a generous portion of the whiskey and swallows it down in one gulp. the alcohol goes down his dry throat like fire, making his eyes burn. he’s about to pour himself another when the bathroom door opens and cas emerges. dean’s caught off guard and freezes, his mouth hanging open, the whiskey completely forgotten.

cas’s hair is wet. it cascades over his forehead sloppily, jagged ends pointing in every direction. dean’s fascinated. he’s never seen was this way before— he’s used to the trench coat and the tie, always. his eyes follow the drops of water that gravity pulls from cas’s hair to drop onto his strong shoulders, then roll down his bare chest, then downward further over the muscles of his stomach toward the towel cas is holding around his waist. dean doesn’t dare trace their path any further.

can watches dean’s reaction with his usual response to confusion: he tilts his head to the side and squints at dean. “i was supposed to bring the clothes into the bathroom with me. i apologize,” he explains.

dean finds his voice, finally. “it’s fine,” he says, consciously turning his gaze back to the glasses on the table. “it’s just… i never knew you had all that going on under the trench coat.” he pours himself a shot, and another for cas, then gestures his glass in cas’s direction in salute. “good for you, man,” he says, and downs it. he holds the other shot out for cas to take with his free hand.

can accepts the glass from him, sniffs it. “what is it?”

“whiskey. it makes you feel good.”

can nods at him, then copies dean and swallows the contents of the tumbler in one gulp. he gasps, reeling from the shock of it, fighting the urge to puke. “this feels good?” he manages.

dean’s trying not to laugh. “maybe we should have started you off with something lighter.” he takes the glass from cas and fills it with water, hands it back to him. “drink this. you’ll feel better, i promise.”

can obeys. “done with the shower?” dean asks. cas nods, slurping down the contents of the glass. “my turn, then. get dressed. we’re going out,” dean says.

can is perplexed. “where are we going?”

_“out,”_ dean repeats. he puts a hand on cas’s shoulder. he can already feel the whiskey coursing through his veins, steadying him, making him feel more confident than he actually is. “people deal with grief in different ways, cas. my method is, i go out, to a bar or a club or a diner if necessary. i find a stranger, and have meaningless sex with them until i can’t remember my own name. and you’re gonna be my wingman. and i know, we’ve tried this before, but i’ve got a good feeling about tonight. we can do this.” he claps his other hand on cas’s other shoulder, shakes him gently to emphasize his point. the look in his eyes frightens cas a little. he sees hopelessness, regret, anger, despair, confusion: too many intense emotions for one person to reasonably deal with, cas now realizes. so he does the only thing he can do, at this point, which is to go along with whatever dean asks of him.

“of course,” he replies. dean grins, looking lost, and heads into the bathroom, shuts the door behind him.

the pair follow the sound of music muffled through walls to the little bar nearby. it’s the only one in town, so the place is packed. there’s a jukebox. somebody has put on a string of pearl jam songs. when “daughter” ends, “jeremy” begins. a girl at the bar next to them complains to her friend: “ _again?_ what is this, 1997?” dean, waiting on the bartender to notice him, sees his chance and leans into the girls’ conversation: “hey, don’t hate on eddie vedder. the man’s a genius.” he flashes them his most charming smile.

the girl who spoke blushes. “i didn’t say i don’t like him. i just think everyone’s heard these songs a hundred times.”

“now it’s 101,” dean says, still grinning. when the bartender approaches he orders whiskey and cokes for himself and cas, and another round of whatever the girls are drinking. the pearl jam hater continues to blush. she pretends to be interested in her drink, but dean sees her sneaking glances at him out of the corner of her eye. he moves closer to her, shoulder-to-shoulder, and she doesn’t move away. he’s in. he hadn’t even needed a wingman, after all.

they chat and sip their drinks. her name is jennifer. she’s a student studying to be a nurse. he tells her his real name, that he’s in town for a family reunion and that he is a mechanic. cas, he says, is his cousin.

half an hour later they are absorbed in a lengthy conversation about what kind of music she actually does like. dean’s trying to listen to what she’s saying, but he keeps getting distracted by the way she sips daintily at her glass of chardonnay. her lips are plump and they look soft and he likes the way her lipstick leaves a little kiss print on the rim of her glass. she glances over her shoulder, tossing her hair, then turns back to him smiling. “looks like those two are hitting it off, huh?”

dean follows her gaze to her friend and cas behind her at the bar. they’re sitting facing each other on their stools, their knees touching, and they’re both laughing like they’re in on some secret no one else knows. jennifer’s friend reaches up and gently ruffles her fingers through cas’s untidy hair, and cas grins at her sheepishly in return.

the sight fills dean with an irrational panic. maybe it’s the whiskey, but he suddenly can’t think clearly. not conscious of what he’s doing, he pulls out his wallet and slaps a fifty on the bar, his eyes locked on cas. jennifer is caught off guard. “is everything all right?”

dean hears her talking as if she’s far away from him. “what? yeah. i just… i need to… we’ve got to go,” he finishes lamely. he’s already moving toward cas. he puts a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention away from the girl. “let’s get out of here,” he says, nodding his head to indicate the exit.

cas looks into his eyes. his expression grows serious, then he turns back to jennifer’s friend. “i’m sorry. it was nice meeting you,” he tells her.

“nice to meet you, too, cas,” she says warmly, then leans forward to kiss him softly on the cheek. she mimes holding a phone to her ear, mouths _“call me”_ at him and winks. dean leaves the bar as fast as he can possibly move.

cas catches up to him outside. “dean, what’s wrong? that girl liked you.”

dean’s frustrated, but he doesn’t know why. “yeah, well, she wasn’t my type.” he sighs. “let’s just go back to the motel.” they pass the walk back to their temporary home in silence, both trying to figure out what went wrong at the bar.

back at the motel, dean pours himself another drink. “you want one?” he asks cas.

“sure,” cas answers tentatively. dean’s sitting on his bed, resting his head against the wall behind him. cas copies him on the opposite bed. dean turns on the tv and they stare at it in silence while he aimlessly clicks through channels with the remote.

“dean, you’re going through a lot right now,” cas ventures after a while. “i know i’m not sam. nothing will ever surpass the bond you had with your brother, i understand that. but i’m here. you can talk to me.”

dean scoffs. “ _i’m_ going through a lot? cas— you just gave up _everything._ you’re stuck as a human now—and i’m so wrapped up in my own shit that i can’t even be there for you. i’m an asshole, cas. you did it all for me and i didn’t even thank you.”

he turns his gaze from the tv screen to meet cas’s eyes. “thank you,” he says. then, more softly: “i just think… maybe i wasn’t worth it. without sam, i’m nothing. i don’t know what to do. i don’t know how to live. i don’t know if i _want_ to.”

“being human is complicated,” cas says. “i didn’t understand how difficult it was until now. the angels view you as simple creatures. they are mistaken. but i don’t regret what happened.”

their eyes meet again. the changing light from the tv lights cas’s face as he tells dean, “i’m proud to have stood by your side. you changed my life. in all my many years of existence, no angel or human has ever done that. you forced me to think in a way that had never occurred to me before. i feel full of life— even though it has occurred to me that one day i will eventually die, now. but that’s part of it, isn’t it? you woke me up, dean. you taught me to _live._ and for that, i’d sacrifice anything for you, a hundred times over. i should be thanking _you._ ”

“yeah, well, it’s day one. we’ll see if your answer changes after a week or two.” dean sips at his drink. “how are you feeling?”

“fine, i suppose— though i have no idea what i’m supposed to feel. it’s hard to put a name to some of the sensations i experience without the usual human knowledge to base them on. so mostly i feel… confused.”

that draws a laugh out of dean. “that’s normal. i myself don’t have a clue what the fuck is going on most of the time.” he crosses his legs and pivots on the bed to face cas. “okay, let’s hear it: what do you want to know about being human?”

cas mirrors dean’s position. swirls his drink in his glass while he thinks. “the physical process of excreting waste product is fascinating. and intimidating,” he says, and dean laughs. “i’ve figured it out, at least i think i have,” he continues. “earlier i thought i recognized the sensation of having to urinate. but when i tried to, nothing came out.” dean laughs again. the sound pleases cas. he suddenly realizes he is grinning. he doesn’t remember ever having done so in his entire life.

“how do you know if you need to excrete while you’re asleep?” cas wonders aloud.

“you wake up,” dean says. “hopefully,” he adds, then laughs again. cas looks perplexed.

“just listen to what your body tells you. it knows what to do. it’ll get the message to your mind. i don’t know how it works— i’m not a science nerd like sammy.” the mention of his brother’s name darkens the mood instantly. “it just works,” he finishes, after a beat.

cas takes heed of the advice: his body is telling him to get closer to dean, so he moves to sit next to him. he can feel the heat transferring from dean’s body to his own. he likes the sensation. tentatively, he puts his arm around dean’s shoulders— a gesture he has seen the brothers use to comfort each other on countless occasions. 

dean leans into him. the sensation of warmth intensifies. “what are we gonna do, cas?” he asks softly. cas doesn’t have an answer. instead, he holds dean a little more tightly.


	3. never let me go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _cas dreams for the first time._  
>     
>  _he’s in hell, flying over the despair and horror below, in search of his target: a certain human— an exceptional one, he’d been told. the moment cas saw dean amongst the darkness, he knew immediately why the angels had wanted him out of there. dean’s soul shone bright, defiant against the chaos and agony surrounding it. cas flies toward the light as fast as his wings will carry him, but it starts to dim, and fear overcomes him. his wings feel like lead, dragging him down into the pit below. he calls out to dean, but he knows it’s useless: he will fall. he has failed his mission. dean will remain in this horrible place forever, and cas will spend eternity watching him, just out reach…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _lay your sleeping head, my love,_   
>  _human on my faithless arm;_   
>  _time and fevers burn away_   
>  _individual beauty from_   
>  _thoughtful children, and the grave_   
>  _proves the child ephemeral:_   
>  _but in my arms till break of day_   
>  _let the living creature lie,_   
>  _mortal, guilty, but to me_   
>  _the entirely beautiful._   
> 
> 
> —w.h. auden, "lullaby"

[x](https://youtu.be/zMBTvuUlm98)

the next morning they head to bobby’s house. upon their arrival he berates them for not calling him sooner, but when he realizes sam isn’t with them he falls silent. dean shakes his head and then bobby’s hugging him and he’s crying and he can’t stop. “he’s dead,” is all he can manage to say, then exits the house to get a grip. cas moves to follow him, but bobby tells him to let him be. “he don’t like crying in front of folks,” he explains, wiping the tears from his own face. “i ain’t ashamed,” he adds. “sammy was a good man. it’s a hell of a loss. what happened?”

cas tells him the story of what happened in the cemetery. “i thought dean said sam was dead?” asks bobby, at the end of it.

“you think it’s possible to get him back?” cas asks skeptically. the thought has already crossed his mind. “without my grace i’m basically useless.”

“watch it, boy,” bobby says. “think about who you hang around with. just because you’re human doesn’t make you helpless.” then he pats cas reassuringly on the shoulder. “we’ll do some research,” he says. “meanwhile, you two look like you could use a good meal. what do you like?”

cas hesitates. “sandwiches,” he offers.

“sandwiches?” bobby repeats. “i said a meal. a sandwich ain’t a meal.”

“sandwiches is all i’ve had.”

“okay. i’m gonna go in the kitchen and rustle you boys up something more substantial than sandwiches. you can go find dean, if you want— he’s probably alright by now.”

cas thanks him and heads outside. he finds dean sitting in the driver’s seat of the impala with the radio on. he’s listening to one of sammy’s tapes on the deck: alternative indie bands were his brother’s usual preference. dean had always pretended to hate it— arguing it was “crybaby music.” he’d just been teasing, though— he secretly likes it. florence and the machine plays through the impala’s speakers as cas approaches. “may i join you?” cas asks cautiously. dean nods. cas sits in the passenger’s seat next to him.

they listen in silence for a while. cas appreciates music for the first time in his life. it has do do with human emotions, he realizes: the music swirls around them, seems to surround them, like a wave. a chill runs over him. “this is beautiful,” he comments.

“sammy’s music,” dean says softly.

“bobby thinks we might be able to get him back,” cas ventures, after a while.

dean’s answer comes out sounding more aggressive than he’d intended. _“no.”_ cas is taken aback.

“i thought you’d—“

dean cuts him off. “i said no, okay?”

the wounded expression on cas’s face fills him with even more guilt. “i told him i wouldn’t look for him,” he explains. “i promised him. it was his last…” he trails off for a moment. “he told me to go live an apple-pie life, and i promised him i would.” he shakes his head in frustration.

cas is confused. “apple pie life?”

“it means normal,” dean clarifies. “he wanted me to be happy. i just… don’t know how i ever will be, without him.”

cas squints at him. tilts his head. “normal?”

“yeah. normal. like with the picket fence and the two and a half kids and the nine to five. all that.”

dean can tell by cas’s expression that he has no idea what he’s talking about. despite how miserable he feels, this draws a smile out of him. cas finds himself smiling back, his body mirroring his feelings without him being conscious of it. “bobby’s making us dinner,” he tells dean.

“great, i’m starving,” dean says, and moves to turn off the car. cas stops him, grabs his arm.

“the song’s not over,” he explains.

“one of sammy’s favorites,” dean says, meeting his eyes. “you’ve got good taste.”

cas smiles earnestly at him. the red and orange of the sunset backlights his silhouette, and dean thinks for a minute he can still see cas’s grace in the glow above and behind and around him. _“never let me go, never let me go,”_ florence sings on the tape deck. the song ends. dean turns the car off. 

over dinner, they argue about what to do about sam. dean’s adamant about keeping his final promise to his brother. bobby points out that neither he nor cas made such an agreement with sam, which irritates dean, because he’s well aware that bobby is right, and that he can’t prevent him from doing whatever he wants to do. he is, like it or not, the boss. so after dinner, after they all help clean up the kitchen, dean drinks beer and watches crappy reality tv on cable while bobby and cas search the library for information about breaking a person out of the worst prison imaginable.

after a few hours bobby bids them goodnight and heads off to bed.

“i usually flip sammy for the couch,” dean tells cas, “but it’s yours.”

“flip him?” cas repeats, tilting his head quizzically.

“flip a coin. here.” dean searches his pockets, retrieves a quarter. “heads, or tails. call it in the air.” he flips the coin, spinning it with his thumb, and catches it. he covers the coin with his palm. “you were supposed to call it,” he explains.

“oh. it happened so quickly… um, heads,” says cas.

dean moves his palm to reveal the coin. it’s face-down. “tails— i win. but you’re still sleeping on the couch,” he says.

later, cas dreams for the first time.

he’s in hell, flying over the despair and horror below, in search of his target: a certain human— an exceptional one, he’d been told. the moment cas saw dean amongst the darkness, he knew immediately why the angels had wanted him out of there. dean’s soul shone bright, defiant against the chaos and agony surrounding it. cas flies toward the light as fast as his wings will carry him, but it starts to dim, and fear overcomes him. his wings feel like lead, dragging him down into the pit below. he calls out to dean, but he knows it’s useless: he will fall. he has failed his mission. dean will remain in this horrible place forever, and cas will spend eternity watching him, just out reach…

dean’s asleep on the floor below cas in a sleeping bag when he’s snapped into sudden awareness by someone screaming. his hand finds the loaded gun beneath his pillow instinctively. he scans the room around them for an enemy, but finds none. he turns to look at cas, the source of the sound that woke him: he’s asleep. his brow is furrowed, beaded with sweat, and he’s murmuring strings of half-enochian, half-english words, obviously distressed. dean shakes him. “cas! wake up.” cas’s eyes open and, after a moment, focus on his. “you’re dreaming,” dean says softly, squeezing cas’s shoulder.

bobby arrives in the living room with a shotgun and scans the room exactly as dean had moments before. “it’s all right, bobby,” dean says. “just a nightmare.”

bobby looks from dean, who is holding cas by the shoulders, to cas, who looks like a deer in a truck’s headlights just before it gets hit. he’s breathing too fast. “i’ve got this. go back to bed,” dean tells bobby, who shrugs and does as he’s told.

dean turns his full attention to cas. “you’ve got to calm down or you’re going to have a panic attack. breathe like me,” he commands, and cas obeys. the room seems to spin around him, and he fights to focus on dean’s eyes. “in, out… slow,” dean says, and cas copies him. “it was just a dream. it wasn’t real,” dean reassures him. after a minute or two cas’s heartbeat has stopped pounding in his ears.

“thank you,” he says softly, for fear of disturbing bobby further. his vision is still blurred. he rubs them, and is surprised to see his fingers come away wet. he stares at them blankly. “i’m crying,” he realizes.

“it happens,” says dean, smiling at him. he wipes cas’s cheeks with his thumbs, cupping his jaw in his hands. “lay down,” he instructs him, moving the pillow onto his lap and joining cas on the couch. cas complies, and dean combs his fingers soothingly through cas’s hair, the way his mother used to whenever he had bad dreams as a kid.

the anguish he felt in the dream, cas finds, recedes with every moment that passes. focusing on dean helps. in a few minutes, the fear that had wrecked his entire existence has passed, and he’s almost forgotten it completely. all that he’s aware of is dean: the heat of his body where their skin touches. the sound of his breathing, slow and steady, and more faintly his heart beating rhythmically, hypnotically. the touch of his fingertips, so gentle against his scalp, tracing the curves in his hairline. the scent of him: sweat and beer and body wash- which he himself used last night. he likes smelling like dean. he drifts back into sleep.


	4. shake it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“what’s wrong, dean?” cas repeats empathetically._
> 
> _dean sighs again, attempting to find the right words. “every since you lost your powers, i… it’s like you’re giving off pheromones, or something. i can’t… no matter how hard i try, i can’t get these… urges, out of my head.”_
> 
> _“what urges?”_
> 
> _“human urges._ animal _urges,” dean says vaguely, but by the way he’s looking at him, cas understands exactly what he means. it sends a chill up his spine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i am done with my graceless heart_   
>  _so tonight i'm gonna cut it out & then restart_   
>  _'cause i like to keep my issues drawn_   
>  _it's always darkest before the dawn..._
> 
> —florence + the machine, "shake it out"

[x](https://youtu.be/WbN0nX61rIs)

that’s how bobby finds them the next morning: both asleep, dean sitting up with cas’s head in his lap, his hand resting on cas’s neck. bobby goes into the kitchen and fusses over a pot of coffee. the scent of it when it brews wakes dean, who doesn’t realize where he is for a second. he looks down and sees cas, still asleep, and smiles to himself. runs his fingers through cas’s hair again, which rouses the fallen angel. 

“morning,” says dean. cas blinks his eyes at him sleepily, and dean’s struck yet again by how _blue_ they are— like a swimming pool, or the sea— something you could drown in. sensing the danger he’s in, he abruptly lifts cas off him and retreats to the kitchen, to bobby, without another word.

bobby’s scrambling eggs in a frying pan over the stove when dean enters the kitchen. “is he all right?” bobby asks without turning his back, sensing dean’s presence.

“i think so,” dean answers, crossing to the counter to pour himself a mug of coffee. “he’s tough,” he continues, sipping the hot liquid gingerly. “he can handle a lot.”

“how are _you_ doing?” bobby asks after a moment, flipping the eggs with a fork.

“about as well as you’d expect,” is all dean can say. their eyes meet.

“we’re here for you, dean,” bobby says softly, and envelops him in a hug. dean buries his face in the shoulder of bobby’s flannel shirt, willing himself not to start crying again, and at the same time focusing on not spilling hot coffee all over both of them. 

cas appears. bobby releases dean. over breakfast bobby tells them that he’s received an urgent call from a hunter friend of his up north— something about some suspicious deaths— and that he’ll be heading out immediately to lend a hand. “i trust you two can hold things down here while i’m gone,” he says. then, to dean, he adds: “maybe get this one“ he nods, indicating cas, “trained up on the more basic fighting techniques. i don’t think i’ve ever seen an angel shoot a gun.”

later, as he’s leaving, he tells dean that it’s okay to sleep on his bed. all he cares about is that the sheets are clean when he gets home. this strikes dean as an odd thing for bobby to say, but he brushes it off.

after he leaves, the boys heed bobby’s advice and head outside into the bright afternoon sunshine to practice sparring. they’re both curious as to how cas will perform in combat as a human. they face off, and dean tells cas to try to hit him using whatever means he can find. the result is less than stellar. cas is reluctant to attack dean. whenever he lunges dean anticipates his movements before he even execute them, and he understands why dean has survived so long as a hunter. he can’t make contact, no matter how hard he tries. he’s getting tired and frustrated. he rests his hands on his knees, gasping for air. dean stands over him. “how do you do this?” cas asks breathlessly.

dean crouches, leveling their eyes to meet. “you’ll get used to it.” he’s grinning, his eyes alight, playful, and cas suddenly remembers dean’s only weakness: it’s the people he cares about. it’s sam, and bobby, and… _himself._ as soon as the thought occurs to him, cas sees his moment and reacts. dean’s distracted, staring into his eyes, so he punches him, connects his fist to dean’s jawline, and dean’s caught off-guard: he staggers backward a few steps, reeling from the impact of the hit. cas is frozen, afraid he’s done something wrong, but then dean’s laughing. he crouches before cas again, his hands held out in front of him in surrender. “that’s enough hand-to-hand training for now, i think,” he says, rubbing his jaw. “i need a beer.”

they bring a six-pack outside. dean gives cas a brief tutorial on gun safety while holding one of the cold bottles to his jaw. he shows him how to load his 1911 and demonstrates how to aim. after finishing his lecture he places his empty beer bottle down range on top of an upturned bucket twenty paces away. “shoot the bottle,” he tells cas, upon returning to his side.

can takes aim. he pulls the trigger: a miss. the dirt explodes on the ground far to the left of the target. he adjusts and fires again: this time he hits the ground in front of the bucket. 

“i said hit the bottle. not the dirt,” dean teases, sipping a fresh beer.

“i’m aware,” cas answers, frustrated. dean puts his beer down and stands behind him, chest-to-back. dean looks over cas’s shoulder and guides him, aligning his arms properly, his hands over cas’s on the gun. “now try it,” he says softly, because of their close proximity: his lips are almost touching the shell of cas’s ear, and he is hyper-aware of the fact. he’s so close, he can smell cas’s hair. he can feel him breathing. their bodies are literally pressed together, and dean’s embarrassed to realize that he doesn’t want to move away.

can pulls the trigger. the bottle shatters. he turns his head toward dean, smiling proudly. his movement brings their faces inches apart. they stare into each other’s eyes for what seems to dean like half an hour. he feels frozen in place. the sounds of the birds in the yard around them even seem to have gone silent. then he panics. retreats ten paces, well out of cas’s reach, and by the way he’s holding his shoulders and his jaw is set—like he’s about to go into a fight— cas can tell he’s upset.

“what’s wrong?” can asks, staying where he is. clearly, he’s broken another rule, and approaching dean would be inappropriate at the moment— despite how strongly he feels the desire to touch him, to comfort him, to wrap his arms around him. the sight of dean so distraught stirs something in cas’s unfamiliar emotions, and he can’t stand watching helplessly as dean paces back and forth, rubbing his hand through the back of his hair in agitation.

finally, dean sighs. “you might wanna put the gun down. you may not like what you’re about to hear,” he jokes, forcing himself to look at cas.

“what’s wrong, dean?” cas repeats empathetically.

dean sighs again, attempting to find the right words. “every since you lost your powers, i… it’s like you’re giving off pheromones, or something. i can’t… no matter how hard i try, i can’t get these… urges, out of my head.”

“what urges?”

“human urges. animal urges,” dean says vaguely, but by the way he’s looking at him, cas understands exactly what he means. it sends a chill up his spine.

“you told me to follow what my body tells me to do,” is all cas says. and it’s like a switch clicks off in dean’s body and mind: he can’t resist any longer. he won’t. he crosses the distance between them as fast as his legs will move him and then he’s on cas, kissing chapped, surprised lips, lost in the scent of his own body wash and cas’s skin and the sensation of cas’s eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. his heart’s pounding, and cas isn’t pushing him away— he’s unsure, of course, of what to do, but he copies dean’s movements and dean pulls him closer, lost to reality now, because he’s dreamt of this many times before, and therefore he can’t be too sure that this is actually happening. 

“cas, are you real?” he whispers, their breath intermingling.

“i can’t be sure, anymore. i’m not sure of anything. but please don’t stop,” cas answers. dean is happy to oblige him.


	5. how big, how blue, how beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _dean wants to take it slow. he wants to savor this. but he can’t help himself— he’s devouring cas like a good book. he couldn’t stop, now, if he wanted to. cas’s eyes are wide, filled with what dean is shocked to recognize as lust— he’s never seen that in their depths before, and it drives him wild. he drags cas back into the house, and into bobby’s room, because now he realizes why bobby told him to change the sheets. he’s a wise man..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i jumped in the river, what did i see?_   
>  _black-eyed angels swam with me._   
>  _a moon full of stars and astral cars_   
>  _& all the figures i used to see._   
>  _all my lovers were there with me—_   
>  _all my past and futures_   
>  _and we all went to heaven in a little row boat..._   
>  _there was nothing to fear and nothing to doubt._   
> 
> 
> —radiohead, "pyramid song" ([x](https://youtu.be/3M_Gg1xAHE4))

[x](https://youtu.be/XdN0AbJ9_uY)

dean wants to take it slow. he wants to savor this. but he can’t help himself— he’s devouring cas like a good book. he couldn’t stop, now, if he wanted to. cas’s eyes are wide, filled with what dean is shocked to recognize as lust— he’s never seen that in their depths before, and it drives him wild. he drags cas back into the house, and into bobby’s room, because now he realizes why bobby told him to change the sheets. he’s a wise man.

he pushes cas backward onto the bed, perhaps a little too forcefully, but cas doesn’t seem to mind. it occurs to dean that cas has no basis for comparison, sex-wise— so, basically, he can do whatever he wants to him, and cas will probably let him. the thought both terrifies him and makes him insanely horny at once. he dives on top of cas, pushing his tongue into his mouth, moving to kiss his neck, relishing the salty sweat taste he finds there. his hands find their way under cas’s shirt. he’s tracing the muscles of his stomach with his thumb and then he moves his hand up to cas’s nipple, and cas gasps in surprise, and dean laughs, grinning from ear to ear because he can’t believe how lucky he is— that he finally gets to do this. cas smiles up at him, his expression a mix of reverence and lust and trust. the sight almost brings tears to dean’s eyes, but he controls himself. “tell me if it stops feeling good,” he murmurs to cas, their eyes still locked. cas nods in agreement. 

dean kisses him again, leans his weight onto cas, pressing their bodies together, now tracing the sides of cas’s torso under his shirt with this fingertips, drawing soft, low hums of approval from the fallen angel. it’s too much. dean’s idea of taking things slowly goes completely out the window. he ruts his hips into cas, and upon doing so, he realizes that cas is hard, too, and his mind goes blank after that. his body goes on auto-pilot. he seems to be watching from above as cas kisses him, hard, while his fingers fumble with the buttons of the jeans cas is wearing, which happen to be his own. he’s trying to concentrate, but cas is pressing back against him, learning quickly, and it’s hard to focus. he feels like a teenager again— awkward, but so fucking eager. he finally gets the damn button undone, and slides his hand down to feel cas through his underwear, which, he finds, is already wet at the head. he slides his thumb over it. cas shudders. dean kisses him again, discovering that he likes the feel of the stubble on cas’s face rubbing against his own. he slides his hand under the elastic of cas’s briefs and grips him— not too hard, but with definite intention. cas’s eyes go wide. his head drops back onto the bed, and he inhales shakily. dean grins. “feels good?”

“yes,” cas breathes, his voice impossibly low. “don’t stop.”

dean wasn’t planning on it. he thrusts his hand upward slowly, and cas looks into his eyes, amazed. “it gets even better than this,” dean tells him. he can't seem to stop smiling.

cas’s breathing is ragged— dean can tell he's overwhelmed. he releases him and kisses him gently, attempting to take a break. but cas begins making small, needy sounds that seem to come from somewhere in the back of his throat, and dean can feel his own erection straining at his jeans, and also cas’s exposed one pressed between them, and he’s lost again— he’s got his own fly open in a mere second, and he grips them both in his palm, and the feeling is so intense it blinds him like angel grace does. through the haze he sees cas below him: blue eyes you could drown in. he moves his fist up and down once. the pleasure washes over both of them at the same time, and dean drops his forehead to rest against cas’s, breathing hard to steady himself. “don’t stop,” cas repeats. dean obeys. kissing cas again, he pumps his hand hard, and it doesn’t take long— cas comes in spurts across his chest in less than a minute, shuddering in dean’s arms, making desperate sounds dean’s never heard come out of him before, and dean follows quickly after at the sight and sound of it. 

dean collapses onto cas, exhausted. his nose is pressed against cas’s neck. he inhales, relishing the scent of him as they regain their breath. when he’s recovered enough, he lifts himself onto his elbows to look at cas, runs his fingers through his angel’s sweaty hair. “was that fun?” he asks— though, by cas’s expression, he already knows the answer.

“yes,” cas answers definitively. “i’d like to try it again.”

dean laughs. “easy, casanova. you wore me out. i need to eat something. you should, too.”

“who’s casanova?” cas asks.

“never mind,” dean laughs, taking off his shirt and using it to wipe cas off. “let’s go get clean, then let’s get some grub. we can try whatever you want, after that,” he says, kissing his forehead before getting up and heading for the shower. cas follows him.


	6. fiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a wave of panic ambushes him._ where is dean? _if he were still an angel, he could find him in an instant. he used to be able to hear him no matter where he was. now he feels crippled, helpless… and afraid. he’d never really experienced fear as an angel. he’d feel a vague sense of dread at the worst of times. this is real fear, mortal fear. it’s completely unfamiliar. it feels like it’s crushing him, pressing all the air out of his lungs..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is getting dark. sorry about that. i might have to change the tags. also i strayed from the florence soundtrack but none of her songs are as fucked up as where this is going :)
> 
>  
> 
>    
>  _were we torn apart by the break of day?_  
>  _you're more than i could believe would ever come my way._
> 
>   _—the xx, "fiction"_

[x](https://youtu.be/GxYN8-HvL44)

they’re in the shower. dean’s never seen cas fully naked before. he stares. cas doesn’t mind. dean can’t help reaching out to trace the muscles of cas’s back when cas turns, lets the hot stream of water pour over his face. dean’s hands find cas’s hips and he grips him, hard, pulling their bodies together. cas leans into him. hums a low rumble of approval, turns his head to bring their mouths to meet. dean’s fingers touch him everywhere he can reach. he’s hard again. cas can feel dean’s erection pressing between his legs from behind him. the sensation of friction there steals his breath away. the room seems to start spinning around him. the only thought his mind can process right now is _more, more, more…_

dean breaks their kiss, moves his hands back to grip cas’s hips again. cas fights to regain a normal breathing pattern. the water pours over them. “you all right?” dean asks, placing a soothing kiss on the back of his neck.

“it’s overwhelming,” cas breathes.

“i know,” dean agrees, smiling to himself. “should we stop?”

cas jerks his head around to face dean, a frown creasing his brow. his eyes seem to darken. “absolutely not,” cas growls, his voice low, vaguely threatening.

dean is reminded how incredibly intimidating he found cas when he first met him. and now the ethereal creature, the object of his unspoken desire since that night in the barn, is commanding him to continue jerking himself off between his legs. he does not need to be told twice.

his hands find cas’s. he pushes him forward roughly, bracing their hands on the tiles in front of them. he bites down gently on cas’s neck, then sucks gently to soothe it, and cas lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a moan and a gasp that drives dean to the point where his thought process is completely abandoned and his primal instincts take center stage. his hand flies to cas’s dick and he pumps it in synch with the thrusts of his hips, which grow more and more frantic and out-of-time with every second that passes. cas is panting, whimpering little moans of pleasure. he flexes his thigh muscles, increasing the friction on dean, and the wave of anticipation breaks. dean’s hips buck frantically against cas. an “ah!” of surprise at the intensity of it rips itself from his throat. he’s still gripping cas from behind, but he wants to see the look on cas’s face when he comes again so he spins cas to face him, presses his back against the wall, kisses him hard, pumps his hand fast. cas hums a nonsensical string of words into dean’s mouth as he comes, then leans into his arms, reeling from the sensation.

dean cooks them cheeseburgers for dinner. after they finish eating cas mentions something about doing more research. dean doesn’t like that idea, so he distracts cas by pinning him to the kitchen table and blowing him. he’s never done it before, but lots have girls have sucked him off. it’s not very difficult to replicate their movements. he doesn’t hate it. actually, it gives him great pleasure to watch cas come undone amongst the dirty dishes and condiment bottles strewn across the table.

as the sun sets they recline on the couch together, cold beers in hand. dean puts “wedding crashers” on the dvd player. he’s seen the movie a million times, so he’s not really paying attention. cas laughs at it, though, which dean loves. eventually cas catches him staring. “am i not supposed to laugh at this part?” he asks, genuinely unsure.

“you are,” dean explains, smiling at him. “you’re laughing at all the right parts. when i met you, you had zero concept of humor. you were about as funny as a funeral during a thunderstorm. i’m surprised, is all.”

cas is silent for a while. “i suppose having a limited amount of time to live forces you to see the humorous side of things,” he finally says. “if you don’t laugh, the alternative is to cry, or scream. i understand now why humans often make jokes in dangerous situations. you and sam, and bobby— you’re witty in the face of death. it’s one of the things that drew me to you.”

their eyes meet, and lock onto one another’s. dean unconsciously licks his lips before asking a question that’s been in his mind since they came to bobby’s. “did you know this was going to happen?”

“of course not,” cas answers, and dean knows him well enough to tell he’s not lying.

“i would have saved sam if i could,” cas continues, his voice soft, reading dean’s train of thought despite having lost the power to literally, actually do so.

“me too,” dean says tonelessly, turning back to the tv. they watch the movie in silence, neither of them paying any attention to it, lost in their respective thoughts. cas rests his head on dean’s shoulder and entwines their fingers on dean’s lap.

cas falls asleep before the movie ends. dean leads him by the hand to bed, where cas immediately sleeps again. dean lays awake. his mind keeps wandering back to sam. in hell. the memory of the place terrifies dean. and he’d promised his brother he’d just leave him there… while he, what, blows an angel he’s corrupted on bobby’s kitchen table and watches “wedding crashers” again? he feels sick. it’s all so _wrong._

the warmth cas’s body gives off while he sleeps comforts dean, but not enough. he needs a drink. he’s memorized the layout of bobby’s house so he doesn’t bother to turn on the lights as he heads into the kitchen. he’s opening the cabinet to find a glass when his fight or flight instincts fire off. his skin crawls. the room’s gone freezing cold in an instant. a crushing sense of dread makes him weak in the knees. he’s afraid to turn around, but he forces himself. when he does, his fears are confirmed: it’s sam. but it’s not sam. he knows this because of the sinister smile on his brother’s face— an expression that isn’t sam’s. it’s the devil using sam as a puppet. he lounges on one of the kitchen chairs, leaning back, his feet crossed on the table.

“hey, dean,” the devil uses sam’s voice to say. “having fun defiling your pet angel? i mean, i always knew cas was a bad egg, but this is unprecedented. good for you two.” he’s smiling, but his eyes glitter dangerously. he leans forward, and dean braces himself instinctively for an attack. lucifer laughs.

“jeez. you’re skittish, huh? _boo!_ ” he feigns a punch in dean’s direction mockingly, then laughs again, amused at himself.

“am i dreaming?” dean asks.

“no, dummy. you’re awake. unfortunately, i’m real.” he shrugs sam’s shoulders. “i busted myself out.”

“how?”

“do you really want to hear the whole story? i suggest we skip to the important parts. the parts that concern you and your new boy toy.” he inclines his head toward the bedroom, indicating cas. “you two pissed me off. big time. you almost fucked up everything for me… _almost_. luckily for you, things worked out anyway. but, unlucky for you, i am fucking petty. what can i say? i’m bitter. i simply can’t let something like this slide. so, here’s what’s gonna happen: i am going to continue to ride your brother, no matter how much he screams. and i am going to destroy everything you love, dean. one by one. i think it’ll make me feel better.” dean remains silent, waiting for the monologue to end. “first, i’ll kill your precious castiel. he made it so easy for me— he’s not even an angel anymore,” he sneers. “then, when you run home to bobby to cry about it, i’ll end him, too. then, for good measure, i think i’ll blow up your car.” he’s grinning, enjoying himself.

dean remains silent for a while, then asks, “are you finished?”

“so brave!” the devil remarks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “i could just—“ he mimes breaking something in front of him with his hands. dean gets the meaning.

“where would the fun be in that, though?” the devil continues. “i like watching humans squirm. and you’re special, dean. one of my father’s favorites. i’m going to savor breaking you. maybe i’ll start right now.” he lunges out of his chair and toward the door that leads to the bedroom, to cas. dean springs into his path in an instant, blocking him. the devil lets out a harsh sound that sounds nothing like sam’s laugh. he leans close to dean’s face. “enjoy your time together,” he whispers, a huge smile on his face. dean doesn’t blink, but one second he’s there, and the next he’s gone.

hours later the sun streaming through the window wakes cas. dean isn’t next to him in bed anymore and the house is eerily silent. he walks from room to room looking for dean. the impala isn’t outside. cas finds his phone and calls dean. the phone rings from somewhere inside the house. he finds it on the nightstand in the bedroom.

a wave of panic ambushes him. _where is dean?_ if he were still an angel, he could find him in an instant. he used to be able to hear him no matter where he was. now he feels crippled, helpless… and afraid. he’d never really experienced fear as an angel. he’d feel a vague sense of dread at the worst of times. this is real fear, mortal fear. it’s completely unfamiliar. it feels like it’s crushing him, pressing all the air out of his lungs.

he walks around the salvage yard outside. there are plenty of cars available. he could use one to go search for dean, if only he knew how to drive one. he’s watched dean and sam drive hundreds of times. it doesn’t seem very complicated. but he’s also seen hundreds of car crashes, many of which claimed human lives. he’s not worried about himself, but he doesn’t want to hurt any innocent humans. he goes back into the house. in the kitchen, he pours himself a glass of water and sits at the table. he opens an ancient book he’d found the other night entitled “the encohian myth” and attempts to look for a way to help sam, but his mind won’t let him focus on the book. it wanders back to dean again and again: where is he? why did he leave? is he safe? what happened? he gets up and pours himself a glass of whiskey. the liquid burns as it goes down his throat, but it calms him. he takes the bottle back to the table with him and resumes his research.

when bobby walks into the kitchen later that evening and sees cas, he jumps, his hand flying to his gun before he realizes who it is. “jeez! you scared the crap out of me! i thought you two left. the car’s gone. where’s dean?”

cas doesn’t answer, just looks up at him through the haze of booze. bobby can tell something is wrong by the broken expression on his face. “what happened?” he asks, joining cas at the table.

cas shrugs. “i woke up and he was gone. his phone’s still here,” he slurs.

bobby takes out his own cell and calls dean’s other phones. they ring and go to voicemail. he hangs up after trying the last number, cursing. “shit. this ain’t like him. what happened before he left?”

cas smiles drunkenly at the memory of falling asleep in dean’s arms. “we ate dinner. we watched a movie. we…” he trails off, his vision blurs even more, and he realizes it’s because there are tears in his eyes. “i don’t know what went wrong. it’s probably my fault. i must have done something to upset him,” he finishes tonelessly. he attempts to pour himself more whiskey, but bobby snatches the bottle away from him.

“nonsense,” bobby chides him. “dean loves you. he wouldn’t run off without a good reason.”

cas is stunned by bobby’s words. or, one word in particular. he stares at him, wide-eyed.

“dean loves me?” he repeats tentatively.

“yes, idiot. of course he does. we all do— but not in the same way dean does,” he adds, smiling.

instead of reassuring him, this revelation makes cas feel even more miserable. “i love him too,” he says quietly, mostly speaking to himself.

“let’s find him, then,” bobby says, patting him on the shoulder.


	7. long & lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _without sam to back him up dean is lost. he can’t fight the devil alone. and alone is what he is: he’d been stupid to think that he could ever be with cas. that he could ever be happy. for a lovely, shining moment, he’d forgotten that he’s cursed. then reality came crashing back in: he can’t afford to have nice things, because they tend to get broken..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _this is a special way of being afraid_   
>  _no trick dispels. religion used to try,_   
>  _that vast, moth-eaten musical brocade_   
>  _created to pretend we never die,_   
>  _and specious stuff that says no rational being_   
>  _can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing_   
>  _that this is what we fear— no sight, no sound,_   
>  _no touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,_   
>  _nothing to love or link with,_   
>  _the anesthetic from which none come round._
> 
> —philip larkin, “aubade”

[x](https://youtu.be/Dl9BqqXaMnE)

dean drives aimlessly for days. he’s not sure where he’s going. he’s not sure of anything anymore. he just knows he needs to get away, somehow. he’d never been inclined to run away from anything before. when he lost sammy, something in him broke. he’s not the same person he was. so he’s running away, although where to, he has no idea.

without sam to back him up he’s lost. he can’t fight the devil alone. and alone is what he is: he’d been stupid to think that he could ever be with cas. that he could ever be happy. for a lovely, shining moment, he’d forgotten that he’s cursed. then reality came crashing back in: he can’t afford to have nice things, because they tend to get broken.

they lost. he accepts that. they tried their hardest to beat the devil, but they failed. there is no hope of getting sammy back. cas isn’t an angel anymore. it’s all fucked up. the only chance he has to save cas and bobby is to end himself. maybe that will satisfy lucifer’s lust for revenge. maybe.

he winds up in manhattan: a perfect place to get lost, a melting pot of sinners— if the devil’s watching him, he wants to make sure to put on a good show. he parks his car in a long-term lot and wanders into the city. no one here looks each other in the eyes. he likes that.

he goes inside the first little pub he comes upon. it’s midday, so the place is empty. he orders a drink. the bartender doesn’t try to engage him in conversation, which is good, because he doesn’t feel like chatting.

he’s zoned out, working his way through his second drink when a pretty girl enters the bar alone. she’s dressed fashionably, carrying a large bag with a computer in it. the bartender recognizes her. “out of work early?” he asks her, smiling. she doesn’t need to order— he’s poured her a glass of white wine and set it on the bar before she even sits down.

“thanks, ron,” she says. “you’re the best.” she smiles at him, then turns to glance at dean. she holds her glass in his direction. “cheers,” she says, winking at him before sipping her drink.

the bartender goes into the kitchen, leaving them alone at the bar. “long day?” she asks dean.

“like you wouldn’t believe,” dean answers, avoiding making eye contact with her.

“tell me about it,” she says, swirling the wine in her glass. “is your boss a complete asshole, too?”

“i’m self-employed,” dean says, pretending to be interested in the tv over the bar, which is currently showing the news: strange sprees of murder are occurring across the country. the government suspects the involvement of some unknown terrorist group or cult. dean knows what’s really going on: it’s the devil amusing himself.

the girl studies him in silence for a minute. “you’re not much of a talker, are you,” she observes aloud.

dean looks at her. “not really.”

“that’s fine,” she says, staring into his eyes. “i like that. i’ll get to the point, then: i find you very attractive. you wanna go back to my place and see what happens?”

dean’s caught off guard by her directness. he raises an eyebrow at her. “seriously?”

“seriously,” she says, her eyes smoldering suggestively.

dean thinks, _why not?_ he’s going to blow his brains out anyway. why not indulge in some casual sex one last time before he goes?

so he follows her back to her fancy apartment, which is full of pretty things. she’s on him the moment the door shuts behind her, claiming his mouth with her own, pushing him toward her bedroom. it occurs to dean that she never even told him her name. he doesn’t care, and she doesn’t seem to, either. she’s aggressive: she pushes dean into the mattress and climbs on top of him, grinding her hips into him. the sex lasts all of five minutes before she comes, yelping, and rolls off of him. she grabs him, rips the condom off, and finishes him off mindlessly. he comes over his stomach. she smiles at him. “that was great,” she says, retrieving a towel from the bathroom for him to wipe himself off with.

“uh huh,” dean says noncommittally. he senses she doesn’t want him to stick around, which is fine with him, because he doesn’t want to.

“put your number in my phone,” she commands, handing him her cell. “you’re hot. we should do that again.”

dean enters the number, knowing it’s pointless because he left his phone at bobby’s house. she kisses him gently on the cheek and escorts him out the door.

and then dean’s back on the street. people pass by without looking at him. instead of feeling calm, like he usually does after he comes, he just feels empty. he had tried not to think during the sex, but cas kept creeping into his thoughts, blue eyes searing their way into his mind.

it’s time, dean thinks. he doesn’t want to think any more. he checks himself into a cheap hotel room and sits on the bed, his gun in his hands. he swallows the contents of a mini bottle of jack daniel’s he bought at the liquor store across the street to steady his nerves. he tosses the bottle aside and puts the gun in his mouth. the barrel bumps against his teeth. his finger is on the trigger. he’s ready.

then suddenly, he’s not in the hotel room anymore. he’s in a meadow atop a sand dune, on a cliff above a great blue lake. the scent of wildflowers drifts to him on the breeze. he lowers the gun, confused.

a few hundred yards away from him is a man kneeling amidst the long grass and flowers. when dean approaches him, he sees that the man is planting seeds in the ground with strong, weathered hands. when he notices the man’s face, he recognizes him: he’s not a man, after all.

“joshua?” dean says, drawing the angel’s attention away from his seeds.

“hello, dean. i was wondering when you’d be here. it’s getting dark,” he says, nodding toward the sun setting on the horizon of the lake.

“is this heaven?” dean asks, still confused.

“you’re still alive, dean,” joshua tells him, smiling. “this isn’t heaven. it’s my own, personal garden,” he explains proudly. “do you like it?”

dean doesn’t see a garden. it’s a wild field, but he’s not an expert. “it’s beautiful,” he says truthfully.

joshua resumes burying the seeds in the upturned earth. “you’re looking for your brother,” he says sagely.

“not anymore,” dean murmurs. “sam’s gone.”

“oh, i think he’s around here, somewhere,” joshua says, his voice cheerful. “you’re just not following the right path to him.”

“what path?” dean snaps, suddenly angry. “‘god’s path’— is that what you’re gonna tell me? spare me the bullshit. he doesn’t care, if he even exists.”

“but he does exist,” the angel counters calmly. “you see him every day. you just don’t know where to look.”

“where should i look, then, o wise one? please, enlighten me,” dean spits contemptuously.

joshua’s smile is full of pity. “he is everywhere, dean. he’s in the feeling you get when you drive your beloved car. he’s in the way your uncle bobby’s eyes light up when he sees you after you’ve been apart. he’s in the warmth of the sun on your skin, he’s in the kiss of the one you desire… how is castiel doing, by the way?”

dean understands his meaning. “i should go back,” he says.

“i think that’s a wise choice,” joshua answers, beaming at him.

dean blinks. he’s back in the hotel room. he stows his gun in his belt and checks out at the desk, retrieves his car from the garage, and speeds back to sioux falls.


End file.
